


The Office of Unmitigated Superiority

by RowWithAChipNPin



Series: Someone Like You [1]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Barrisco - Freeform, Flirting, M/M, Pre-Slash, Private Investigator AU, flashvibe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 03:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7874281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowWithAChipNPin/pseuds/RowWithAChipNPin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Barry Allen is at the end of his rope, with no leads on his newest case. But 'forfeit' isn't in his dictionary, and he'll do anything to catch his man.</p><p>Unfortunately, this time, 'anything' means paying a visit to his least favorite kind of people--private investigators. Barry really hates PIs. But this one's kinda cute, and quite the flirt.</p><p> </p><p>  <em> (Private detective AU) <em></em></em></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Office of Unmitigated Superiority

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I moved into my new uni dorm today, and since I'm in such a good mood, I decided to give you guys a treat!
> 
> I'm considering doing more short pieces about Flashvibe in varying AUs, but I don't want to start something I can't finish, and uni comes first. Let me know what you guys think, and drop any prompts or AUs you'd like to see, just in case.
> 
> This short story has not been beta'd, so please let me know about any errors I missed. And as always, please review!
> 
> Cheers,
> 
> Row

**1 | The Office of Unmitigated Superiority | 787**

_**(private detective au)** _

 

The frosted glass door was engraved with the words WELLS & RAMON – INVESTIGATIVE SERVICES. Private detectives. Barry _hated_ private detectives. They were jackasses who got in the way of real cops, and fucked up perfectly good police work.

“Suck it up, Allen,” his partner muttered as she reached for the knob. “They’re the only guys in town who might know where our crooks are.”

Sighing with slightly more drama than strictly necessary, Barry followed Iris into the PI office. The building was on the wrong side of the tracks, and consequently, Ramon and Wells were neck-deep in the seedy underbelly of Central City, Missouri. Which, admittedly, didn’t sound particularly seedy compared to Gotham or Manhattan, but was roughly the Midwestern equivalent, and its own set of crazy criminals. Allen had seen their rap sheets, neither Wells nor Ramon were exactly angels—fraud, embezzlement, identity theft (Wells), connections to the Detroit Mob, assault (Ramon)—but compared to some of their neighbors, they were the next best thing.

The PIs themselves were about what Barry was expecting. Wells was a grumbling, glowering man hunched over his desk and stabbing angrily at his lunch, black hair spiked up in all different directions like he stuck a fork in a toaster. Ramon was much younger than his partner, maybe even a few years Barry’s junior, with long hair tied back in a neat ponytail. He was the one to smile when Barry and Iris entered, while his partner barely glanced up from his work.

“Hello, can we help you?”

Barry flipped open his badge, showing Ramon his shield. Iris did the same. The PI’s face didn’t exact turn to stone, but he darkened at the corners; clearly, he was no more a fan of law enforcement than Barry was of private detectives.

“I’m Agent Allen, this is Agent West,” Barry said, waving between him and his partner. “We need to ask you a few questions.”

Ramon grinned easily.

“You can ask all the questions you want, pretty boy,” he said, smirking.

Barry was shocked, not strictly at Ramon’s inclinations but more at his openness. Most men of his sort didn’t exactly broadcast their preferences, let alone blatantly flirt with a federal agent.

He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat.

“Leonard Snart.”

He didn’t miss how Ramon stiffened at the name, or how Wells’ head popped up from his desk. Neither did Iris.

“Yeah, thought so,” she said. “Spill it.”

He sighed and tugged at his ponytail—a nervous tic, Barry noted.

“Mobster operating in Central and Keystone, calls himself ‘Captain Cold.’ He likes to lock people up in an industrial freezer. Partners with Mick Rory, Heat Wave. Cold freezes ‘em, Heat Wave burns ‘em.”

He was holding something back, Barry was sure of it.

“What else, Ramon?”

“…I _may_ have dated his sister, Lisa, awhile back. He, heh, Leonard didn’t exactly approve. Thank God it ended amicably,” he said. “I shudder to think what he would’ve done if I broke her heart.”

Iris snorted.

“No shit. The bodies are piling up, Ramon. We need all the information we can get—like a _location._ ”

Ramon shrugged.

“Wait here. I’ll go pull our records. Maybe there’s something in there that’ll help.”

He left them alone with Wells, who continued to glare at them as if this wasn’t his office, but his living room, and they had so rudely stormed in. Barry had a feeling that Ramon, cheerful and friendly, was the face of this operation, and without him, Wells would likely starve from lack of clients. Barry smiled nervously. Wells’ narrowed his eyes and his lips curled up.

Barry looked away.

Ramon returned from the small closet containing their records, holding a notably slim folder. He handed it off to Barry.

“This is what we’ve got, pretty boy. I try not to stick my nose in Leonard Snart’s business. You understand.”

Iris nodded.

“You and everyone else in this city,” she said. “It’s a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

Ramon shrugged—yeah, he knew. Iris was about done with this Snart guy. She hadn’t even met him, officially, but she was one snappy comeback away from shooting the guy in the knee.

“Are you sure this is it?” Barry asked, shaking the papers.

“This is the office of unmitigated superiority,” Ramon said, jerking his thumb at his partner. “We’re _always_ right.”

Barry held up his hands, as if Ramon was a wild dog who needed calming.

“Right, sorry, no offense meant, man.” He flipped through the folder, scanning the ink for keywords. When he reached the end, and saw what was scrawled at the very bottom, he looked up, eyebrows raised. “What’s this?”

Ramon grinned.

“My phone number.”


End file.
